


I Want to Dance with Somebody

by ohstars



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Marvel Undercover, Piano, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25564999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohstars/pseuds/ohstars
Summary: Steve does not dance. In fact, he can't dance and everyone in his life knows it. So when the time comes where he has to fill an important role in his sister's wedding, he has no choice but to learn. He's absolutely sure it'll be a miserable experience, with Natasha as his teacher, until he catches sight of the mysterious pianist in the corner. Maybe things won't be so bad after all...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 9
Kudos: 111
Collections: Marvel Undercover 2020





	I Want to Dance with Somebody

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ Clock strikes upon the hour _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
  


The studio is filled with teenagers when Steve arrives, each carrying their own gym bag and in various states of athletic wear. They eye him suspiciously, whispering amongst themselves as Steve crosses the studio to stand before Natasha. “I thought we agreed on a private lesson, Nat.” 

Natasha glances over her shoulder as she tightens her laces, leg balancing on the bar attached to the wall. “We did. You’re early.” 

“You said after work.” 

“I remember what I said, Steve.” Natasha rolls her eyes and pulls her leg off the bar. “Give me twenty. Go change and stretch.” She claps, addressing the class with a sharp Russian phrase. 

Steve sighs and slips out of the room, pushing open the men’s locker room. He can already tell this was going to be a miserable experience. It was one thing to have his sister teach him how to dance, but to have her in teacher mode was something Steve wasn’t prepared for. He had originally thought this could be a little fun, goofing off with Natasha like they used to do in Nick’s basement as she tried to choreograph a dance number with Carol and Steve as stand-ins for the dance team. He should have known better. 

He drops his bag on the bench and starts slipping out of his work slacks. It was hard to believe how much they’d all changed from those days. He wishes he could have bottled up all those impromptu afternoon dance camps with his sisters, before they grew up. He should have known that this is where Natasha would one day end up: a severe dance teacher with a secret heart of gold. 

It’s not her fault. The military changed them all. 

Shaking his head, he pulls on his workout leggings and a loose tank top. Steve shoves his work clothes into his gym bag. He takes a deep breath. It’s now or never. 

He slips out of the locker room as Natasha guides her class through an effortless routine. Steve leans against the wall, closest to the mirrors and beams, furthest from the large piano in the corner. It looks brutal, lots of quick floorwork and standing on toes, but the class looks bored. Of course they would. 

One ballerina does a twirl of some sort in the middle of the floor, spinning until the music stops. 

“Well done,” Natasha says as the dancers come to a stop. “We’ll take it from the top tomorrow. You’re dismissed.” 

The dancers scatter, grabbing their bags and walking out of the studio in nothing but their leggings and leotards. 

Natasha puts her hands on her hips and sighs. “Stretch, Rogers.” 

“I thought this was just a waltz?” he asks as he pushes himself off the wall. 

“And I thought I said to stretch.” She walks over to the piano where a man sits, hunched over. They whisper to one another, Natasha gently resting next to him on the piano bench. 

Steve stretches his body, tugging on his limbs. 

Natasha pats the pianist on the shoulder as she stands. “Thank you,” she tells him as she walks toward Steve. “Alright, let’s get to work grandpa.”

“I’m younger than you?” Steve laughs, brow furrowed. 

“Being a grandpa is a vibe, not an age requirement.” Natasha stands in front of him, hands on her hips and her green eyes glaring up at him. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” 

Steve takes a deep breath. The things he lets his sisters get him into. He had an out, but they knew just what to say to suck him back in. If only he’d had a backbone the other day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ And the sun begins to fade _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Natasha, I don’t think this is something I can do,” Steve said, leaning back against the metal back of his seat. It creaked under his weight, yawning with the movement; a reminder of how out of place Steve felt in the upscale cafe Natasha prefers. He wanted to slink back to his cozy, warm cafe with the big mismatch couches and the wooden chairs -- chairs meant for adults and not dainty five year olds. 

She rolled her eyes as she gently blew across the top of her coffee. Natasha took a tentative sip, elegant as always. Steve’s not sure how she does it, how she maintains her poise and grace in everything she does. It doesn’t seem fair. Natasha set the mug down on the petite metal table with a clink and slid a palm under her chin, elbow digging into the grated table top. It should be uncomfortable, but Natasha’s at ease. “I wouldn’t take you for having a defeatist attitude, Rogers.” 

“It’s not defeatist. It’s realistic.” And it is, in a way. Steve knew his body, knew what he could do, and dance isn’t one of them. 

Natasha leaned back, hand falling to her lap. “You have to try, for her sake.” 

“I want to, I do,” he insisted, “but I know what I’m capable of.” 

“It’s not like I’m asking you to do some complex routine. It’s just a simple waltz, that’s all Carol wants.” 

“No, what Carol wants is Nick to be doing this,” Steve said as he sipped from his own scalding mug. It burned his upper lip and tongue, but he tried to stifle the grunt of pain with a cough. 

Natasha wasn’t impressed. She tapped her long nails against the metal, an eyebrow raised. “Is this your way of getting back at her for picking you second?” 

Steve felt his eyes squint at her before he realized what he was doing. “No, it really isn’t. I just can’t dance. You’ll see. I’ll get up there with her and make a fool of us both and ruin the whole night.”

“You won’t, especially after I’m finished with you.” Natasha smiled at him then, a dangerous glint in her eye that sent a wave of panic through Steve’s gut. The same look that challenged him to jump from rooftop to rooftop in middle school, where he broke his arm and fractured his leg. The same look that slipped a flask in his jacket for every school dance they went to. The same look that told him to get over Peggy Carter before college, to let her go. It was a look that forewarned danger, that promised pain, and made Steve’s knee bounce with nervous energy. “Give me a month. Three times a week for an hour. Then if you can’t do it, I’ll tell Carol to move onto the next person.” 

“I can’t do that to her,” Steve said, looking down at the table. 

Natasha shrugged. “Then you push through it and take my offer anyway.” 

Steve’s brow furrowed as he leveled her with a look, one he hoped looked intimidating to some degree. “You really think you can teach me in a month?” 

“I think I can teach you in less, but I think your stubborn ass won’t listen for the first two weeks. So yes, a month.” 

“Fine.” 

And with that one word, Natasha’s evil gleam in her eyes magnified. He suddenly felt like he’d signed his life over to the devil herself, and not for the first time in his life. 

“Meet me at the studio Monday after work. Bring your gym bag.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ Still enough time to figure out _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve is distracted. He’s trying his damnedest to pay attention and focus on Natasha’s instructions, but he can’t. Not when his eye keeps catching the pianist’s profile in the mirror. 

The man isn’t paying Steve any mind, his fingers dancing over the keys at a snail’s pace. Steve can only see a portion of the man’s face: his eyes are closed, his bangs are spilling over his face, shadowing the high cheekbones and hiding his nose completely from Steve’s perspective. He’s in his element, ignoring everything about the situation and acting on instinct to Natasha’s Russian instructions. Hell, if it weren’t for the subtle change in pace or key, Steve wasn’t even sure the man was listening. He just plays a soft melody, his hunched shoulders swaying.

Natasha’s kicking at his feet. “You have to actually move to dance, you know.” 

“Right,” Steve huffs. He picks up his feet and tries to copy Natasha’s movements. 

In the corner of the mirror, the man shakes his head. 

Natasha drags Steve across the pale hardwood floor, manipulating his body like a marionette puppet. He tries to keep up, he really does, but his toes keep getting in the way of her feet. She stumbles, barely grabbing Steve’s arm before she could tumble forward. 

Steve winces. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. I expected this.” Natasha lets him go as she walks away. She plucks a water bottle off the ground near the wall and takes a long sip. “Try it on your own.” 

“You want me to dance a waltz by myself? When I’ll be dancing with a partner?” Steve crosses his arms, eyes flickering over to the now still pianist. The man isn’t watching them, eyes trained forward, but there’s a ghost of a smile twitching on his face. 

Natasha leans against the rail. “Yup. Now dance.” She nods toward the pianist. 

Steve groans, loud and whiny, but he tries to mimic the steps she had taught him earlier as the music starts back up. He holds both of his arms up as if he were holding another person and watches as his feet clunkily follow the melody. 

“See, you’re not hopeless, Rogers.” 

“Shut up,” Steve says, a blush forming on his cheeks.

Natasha claps her hands and the music stops. She glides across the floor and leans down to whisper something to the pianist. 

Steve watches as the man stands, hugs Natasha, and slips out of the door without a second glance. She turns back to Steve. “Alright. I think you’ve got the first part down. When can you come back? Tomorrow?” 

“Can’t do tomorrow. Sam and I have a meeting.” Steve drops his arms and places his hands on his hips. 

“I can do Wednesday and Thursday, same time?” 

“That works.” He clears his throat and glances toward the piano. “So, who’s the pianist?” 

Natasha laughs into her water bottle as she takes another sip. “A friend of mine. He needed an outlet, so I asked him to play for the studio.” 

“Yeah, but what’s his name?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Natasha shakes her head. “Go home, Steve. You smell and it’s getting late. Don’t you have work in the morning?” 

Steve wipes the sweat off his forehead. “Yeah, yeah I do.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ How to chase my blues away _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On Wednesday, Steve goes straight to the studio after he gets off work. He feels a little guilty about wearing his sweaty gym clothes to practice in, but his apartment’s so out of the way that it just makes sense to head over to Natasha’s. 

Her class is still in session when he gets there: a younger group of ballerinas than the ones in Monday’s class, but their skill surpasses Steve’s expectations for middle school dancers. He slips inside and settles on the floor, leaning his head on the floor length window. 

Steve pulls out his phone from his gym shorts and tries to beat the next level on a puzzle game Sam suggested last night at their meeting. If it gives him something to focus on for a moment, until the music changes from the sweet crooning of the piano to an electronic pop beat. He looks up and sure enough, the pianist has stopped playing. 

If Steve angles his phone in a way that he can keep an eye on the mysterious pianist and still beat Sam’s high score on this level, then no one has to know. 

The piano man turns on his bench and pulls his knees to his chest. He must be watching the kids dance. 

It’s chaos in the studio as the ballerinas start to add elements of other styles into their routine. The laughter in the room is contagious, a bubble of energy spreading throughout the room. 

Steve keeps his eyes trained on his phone, or he tries really hard to. He keeps catching himself staring at the man, watching as the pianist tries to stifle a laugh of his own behind gloved hands. 

It takes all of his willpower not to walk up to the man once the class ends. 

Instead, he gives himself over to Natasha and commits the steps to memory. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ I've done alright up to now _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thursday evening, Steve’s running late. His last client had a meltdown in the pool area and Steve couldn’t very well leave him alone after such an exhausting emotional breakthrough. So he spent a little longer talking him down and making sure he was okay to get home by himself. He has no doubt that Natasha will understand. 

Except it’s Natasha and she doesn’t. 

“You could have called, Steve,” Natasha says the second he walks through the studio door. “We’ve been waiting for you for over half an hour.”

Steve winces. “I know, I’m sorry. I got held up at work--”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s whatever. Just change your shoes so we can get started.” 

“Shouldn’t I be practicing in dress shoes?” Steve asks as he toes out of his shoes. 

“We’ll get there. Don’t rush me.” 

Steve hears the pianist laugh, a soft rumbling that warms Steve’s chest. It’s familiar in a way that makes him pause, but Natasha doesn’t give him time to think about it. “Let’s move, Rogers.” 

“Okay, okay, Jesus.” Steve moves into position. “Whenever you’re ready, Romanoff.”

Natasha levels him with a glare as she clears her throat. 

The pianist starts to play, a lovely continuation of his laugh filtering through the timid song. It contrasts Natasha’s brutal instructions in a way that has Steve stumbling and messing up more than usual. 

“I don’t know what’s going on in that big head of yours, but you need to cut it out and come back down to earth. My magic only works if you’re willing to learn,” Natasha tells him after the fourth mistake. 

Steve sighs. “I know, I know. I’m trying.” 

“Try harder. From the top.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ It's the light of day that shows me how _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve makes sure he’s extra early on Monday. It’s easy, since he has Monday’s off, but that’s not the point. He’s there before Natasha’s class even starts, just to make a point. 

Natasha flicks him off when he walks in. “Seriously?” 

“We couldn’t have a repeat of Thursday, right?” 

She pinches the bridge of her nose, but Steve can see she’s smiling behind her hand. “Go do something until it’s your turn,” she tells him as he crosses the hardwood floor. 

He holds his hands up in defense as he settles against the wall again, this time next to the piano. 

The pianist is already sitting at his bench, facing away from Steve. He’s got a watchful eye on the dancers lingering in the center of the studio, waiting for Natasha’s cue to begin playing. 

Steve pulls out his phone and opens his puzzle app again. He figures if he sits behind the man, he won’t be so intrigued by the man. Then he might be able to focus on his lesson. 

And that works in theory, until he hears a whisper. 

“You’re a brave man,” the pianist says, not turning to Steve. 

“Yeah? How’s that?” Steve asks softly, weary of Natasha’s steady bark of orders and her looming presence over the studio.

The man shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone stand up to Nat the way you do.” 

“Oh,” Steve laughs, “that’s just what happens when you live with her for almost a decade. Once you realize she’s less likely to actually harm you, it’s easier to handle her threats.” 

“You lived together?” 

“I’m her brother,” Steve says quickly.

The man pauses, hands hovering over the piano. He turns his head, as if he’s going to say something, but Natasha cuts him off with a gentle Russian word Steve doesn’t know. 

Steve settles against the wall, phone forgotten in his lap, and watches him play. It’s peaceful, seeing how his shoulders rise and fall with the music, how it seeps into his bones and lightens the air around him. It’s intoxicating and Steve can feel himself falling down a rabbit hole of emotions as the melody becomes more complex. 

And then he stops. 

Natasha starts to walk through the routine with her dancers sans music. 

The man leans back, angling his body in a way that invites conversation but keeps his face hidden from Steve’s curiosity. “I can’t imagine she was easy to live with.” 

“You should see her and our other sister. If you think she’s scary solo, you can’t imagine what she’s like with a partner in crime.” 

“Carol, right?” 

Steve leans forward, resting his arms around his knees. “She’s told you about Carol?” 

The man shakes his head. “Not much. Just that she’s the sister getting married. S’why you’re here, right?”

“Yeah, it is. I’m filling in for our dad.” 

“That’s a hard act to follow.” 

Steve shrugs. “It is, but I don’t mind.” 

“I filled in for my dad when my sister got married last year,” the man says gently. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but my dad made me promise I’d do it.” He clears his throat and straightens his back. “But it’s rewarding. You won’t regret it.” 

“Any advice?” 

Natasha calls for the music to start again.

The man turns and assumes his position, back in the rhythm of the song as if he never stopped. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ And when the night falls, loneliness calls _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve decides that early is better than late, especially if the piano man is willing to entertain him when he doesn’t have to play. So when he shows up before the class starts, Steve hunkers down behind the piano like last time. 

“You’re early again,” the man says, watching his fingers on the keys. He’s not playing, his fingers hovering over the instrument in anticipation. 

“After last week, I don’t think I can handle being late twice. She has a key to my apartment and all,” Steve admits. 

“I think that’s a safe decision,” the man laughs. 

Steve’s heart does  _ not _ jump at the sound. It doesn’t. He promises himself it doesn’t. 

“How long have you been playing?” Steve asks, leaning forward. 

The man plays a quiet tune for a moment before he answers, fingers still gliding over the piano, “Since I was a kid. My mom taught me.” 

“You seem to enjoy it. I mean, you’ve gotta if you’re going to let Natasha order you around for five days a week,” Steve says. 

“I suppose.” The man plays in silence for a moment and they watch the dancers stretch. “What do you do? When you’re not breaking Natasha’s toes?” 

Steve laughs. “I’m a personal trainer and psychologist. I use physical means to help people work through trauma in a healthy way.” 

The man pauses. “And that works?” 

“It’s not for everyone by any means, but it helps a lot of my clients.” 

“Do you enjoy it?” 

Steve nods. “I do.” 

Natasha claps her hands and directs her students to start warming up. She shows them a new warm up routine, poised and effortless as she moves. 

The man runs a hand through his thick brown hair and nods. “That’s good.” 

“I think it’s important, for sure.” Steve clears his throat. “Why do you still play?” 

The man stiffens. “I just do.” 

Steve watches him for a moment before he makes a choice. He scoots over to lean against the back of the bench, facing the wall, knees to his chest as he sits on the floor. He’s inches away from the man now, so close he can feel the man’s presence above him and smell his aftershave: a woodsy scent that reminds Steve of the days Nick used to take him and Sam camping. 

He looks up and catches the man’s wide eyes. 

And the world stops moving. 

Because staring down at him is Bucky Barnes. 

And Steve was sure he’d never see him again, not after graduation, but here he is in all his glory. 

This time his heart really does jump, just like it did when Bucky first looked at him like this. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ Oh, I wanna dance with somebody _

_ I wanna feel the heat with somebody _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. It kept hitting the metal railing beneath his desk, tap tap tapping against it. His classmates were starting to notice, sending eye rolls and glares his way. Steve didn’t care. How could he? He was going to have to give his speech in front of everyone. In front of  _ him _ . 

He glanced to the left. Bucky Barnes sat near the window, hand in his coiffed hair and eyes boring forward as a peer gave a lackluster speech on climate change. He was beautiful in every way a man shouldn’t be, according to his friends, but Steve didn’t mind. He could spend hours counting the freckles on Bucky’s cheeks, watching the way his lips curled into a smile or how his eyes crinkled when he laughed, listening to the way he spoke with a thick midwestern accent when he was in the heat of the moment. 

Steve wasn’t going to survive this. 

Granted, he’d given several presentations in front of Bucky before over the years and he’s still standing. But that doesn’t matter, because Steve has never been this bold in his life. 

He’s about to come out to the entire English class. To Bucky. 

Logically, Steve doesn’t think Bucky would look at him any differently. If anything, this might get him more attention from the boy considering Bucky has no idea Steve even exists. 

His knee is still bouncing. Steve can’t stop his hands from shaking. He’s about to blow this, he can just feel his impending failure like a chill running down his spine. 

“Thank you, Patrick. Next is Steve,” their teacher said. 

Steve took shaky breath in and willed his legs to cooperate as he stood. He walked to the front of the class, index cards in his hands, and looked straight ahead to Carol. 

She grinned and gave him a thumbs up. 

The teacher, Mrs. Harborough, leaned back in her seat. “Alright Steve, what will you be talking about today?” 

“LGBT history within the military, ma’am,” he said, his voice too deep for his frail body. It felt out of place, he felt out of place. God, what the hell was he thinking? 

Mrs. Harborough tilted her head, pen raised. “And why is that important to you?” 

“I plan on enlisting after school, ma’am, and,” he took a deep breath, “as a bisexual person it’s important I know and understand the history behind the progress my community has made, specifically within my career of choice.” 

Steve felt his cheeks grow warm as whispers flickered around the room. He tried to keep his eyes on his cards, only glancing up to meet Carol’s protective stare, but he couldn’t help himself. Steve’s eyes darted to Bucky.

He was already watching him.

Bucky’s face was calm, a little shocked. His lips were parted, cool gray eyes wide and attentive. He was leaning forward in his seat, completely engrossed in what Steve was about to say. 

It knocked the wind out of his chest. Not for the first time, was Steve grateful he’d outgrown his asthma.

“Whenever you’re ready then, Steve,” Mrs. Harborough said gently. 

Steve nodded and took another breath. 

Bucky closed his mouth and curled his lips into a small smile. 

And suddenly, Steve wasn’t so worried. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody _

_ With somebody who loves me _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Bucky, hi,” Steve whispered. 

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Haven’t heard that in a while.” 

“You don’t go by ‘Bucky’ anymore?”

“No, it’s James, usually.” Bucky-- James looks down at his hands. “Why’d you, um, call me that?” 

Steve turns to face the wall. “It’s the name you went by in high school, is all. I didn’t know you had changed it.” 

James pauses. “So you are the same Steve.” 

“The same Steve?” 

“I remember you being a lot smaller than you are now. What happened to you?” 

“I joined the Army.” 

James turns to him so Steve does the same. “Really?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, it was always my plan.” 

“And you’re out now?” James shakes his head. “Of course you are. You’re a trainer now.” 

“I got out a year ago,” Steve says. 

“So did I.” 

He doesn’t have a chance to follow up on that because Natasha’s calling for James to play. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ I've been in love and lost my senses _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve’s client makes him late again, but not by much. It’s enough that James is giving Steve a tight smile when he walks through the door. “Okay, listen, I got here as soon as I could.” 

Natasha just rolls her eyes and motions for him to join her in the center of the studio. “If it happens again, I’m charging you.” 

“Do I get a family discount?” 

“Double my usual rate,” Natasha says. 

Steve sighs. “Yeah, okay.”

They dance for a while, slowly working through the waltz at a snail’s pace until Steve can work through it without stumbling. Natasha makes him repeat it countless times, with her and by himself. She’s keeping her praise light, but Steve thinks he can see a smile in her eyes when he finishes the routine a second time without any mistakes. “I told you I only needed two weeks,” Natasha says. 

“I really don’t think Carol wants to spend half an hour doing one dance,” Steve says as he wipes his face with his shirt. 

“No, but next week we’ll focus on getting you to the song’s original tempo and then get you in the proper attire.” Natasha crosses her arms. “Can you stay late?” 

Steve nods. “Yeah, I don’t have a client until eleven tomorrow so I’m good to work later.” 

Natasha turns to James. “And you? Have anywhere to be?” 

James shakes his head, hands folded in his lap. “Not particularly.” 

“Alright then. I’m going to order dinner. Take fifteen and then we’ll get back to work.” Natasha glides down the hallway and into her office, shutting her door with a soft click. 

Steve groans and sits down in the center of the studio, arms hanging loosely around his knees. “She’s going to be the death of me, I swear.” 

“From my experience, she seems to be going easy on you,” James says from the piano. 

“You think so?” 

James nods and stands. He takes a few steps and sits across from Steve. “I’ve seen her teach this particular style to couples and partners countless times. They always leave here with tears in their eyes and fear in their hearts.” James watches Steve for a beat, eyes flickering over his face; studying him. “You not so much.” 

Steve takes a deep breath, James’ words settling over his shoulders as if he were Atlas in disguise. “Figures,” he says, voice cold. 

“She seems to want you to succeed, though.” 

“No, no, I know that.” Steve waves away that thought. “That’s not what I meant. I just… Didn’t think she’d treat me differently than her other clients, is all.” 

James’ brow furrows. “She’s your sister. Of course she’d treat you differently?” 

“No, it’s not--” Steve runs a hand through his hair, grimacing at the sweat. “You said you were in the military, right?” 

James looks away, turning to face the piano. “I was, yes.” 

“Do you remember when you came back? How people treated you differently? Even if they were trying really hard not to, just the idea of them keeping things perfectly normal like it was before you left is awkward and irritating? But you know it comes from a place of love and them trying to understand?” Steve asks, scooting closer to James. 

He nods, eyes glued to the piano. 

Steve clears his throat. “I come from a military family. My dad’s in the CIA, but he was a marine before my sisters and I came into the picture. Then Natasha joined the Navy Seals, Carol joined the Air Force, and I joined the Army. So they understood, they got it in ways most families didn’t, you know?” 

James glances at him, bangs falling over his face. 

Steve shuffles closer. “And for a while, I never had that issue with them about being treated differently when I came home from a tour.” 

“What changed?” 

“I was shot on my last tour. Bad enough to discharge me.” Steve tugs at the hem of his basketball shorts, revealing a bullet wound and several surgical scars. “They never thought I’d lose my leg or wouldn’t be able to walk, thankfully. It was just bad enough to kick me out, which was hard, but the way my family treated me was harder.” 

James hums. “They looked at you like you were made of glass, right?” 

Steve nods. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“So now that you’re, I’m assuming here, mostly back to full capacity, the fact that she’s still treating you that way doesn’t sit well with you?” 

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Steve says, a self-deprecating laugh clingy to his words. He lets his head fall, chin bumping his chest. 

James is quiet for a moment, body turning away from Steve once more. 

“Pizza will be here in forty-five, boys. Let’s get back to work so we can enjoy the rest of our night, right?” Natasha says as she walks back into the room. 

“Good idea,” Steve says, grunting as he stands. He offers a hand to James. “We better get to moving before she unleashes her flying monkeys on us.” 

“Don’t bother clicking your heels, Steve. You’re stuck here until I say so,” Natasha says over her shoulder. 

James takes Steve’s hand, his leather glove sticking to Steve’s clammy skin, and staggers to his feet. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ Spinning through the town _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
  


Natasha clasps her hands together. “That’ll do for now.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Have I met your standards?” 

“No, but the pizza guy is here and I’m starved, so it’ll do for now.” Natasha twirls around Steve as she heads toward the door, where a teen holds three pizza boxes behind the glass. 

James rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck and back as he stands. “You did good,” he tells Steve quietly. 

“Yeah? I’m not a complete shit show?” Steve puts his hands on his hips, breathing labored. 

“Not completely.” And there’s a smile on James’ lips that sends Steve back to high school English all over again. Some things never change.

“Well I’m glad  _ someone _ thinks I’m improving,” Steve says a little loud in the quiet studio. 

Natasha flicks him off behind her shoulder as she signs for the pizzas. 

James chuckles, crossing his arms. 

“About earlier,” Steve starts, “I’m sorry if I crossed a line or anything. I know everyone feels differently about their time in the service--”

“No, it’s okay,” James says softly. “I don’t… usually talk about it, but you didn’t bother me or anything.” 

Steve smiles. “Good. The last thing I want to do is push you away.” 

James lifts his head, scowling. “Why’s that?” 

“What? Can’t a guy want to get to know someone without it being weird?” Steve laughs, a little sharper than he intended. His face feels flushed and he’s suddenly aware of how much sweat is sliding down his back.

Natasha carries the pizzas back to them and sits down on the floor. “James, can you grab the napkins out of my office? Feel free to grab a water or something for yourself, too.” 

“Course.” James slinks back to the office, shoulders hunched and head down. 

Steve settles beside Natasha and lifts the lid of one of the boxes. “Meatlovers, perfect.” 

“You act like I don’t know your pizza preferences, Steve.” Natasha slides the bottom box from under the stack, lifting the lid to reveal a variety of greens and reds within the cheese: vegetarian pizza. “You seem to be talking with James more.” 

“Is that a problem?” Steve’s foot bounces against the hardwood floor, a consistent thud. 

Natasha shakes her head and covers the pizzas again. “No, I think it’s good. You’d be good for him.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“He needs more friends, that’s all. I’d be saying the same about you if I didn’t know you had Sam and the guys.” Natasha sighs. “James, all of his friends aren’t…” 

“Here? As in alive or are they overseas?” Steve asks. 

Natasha looks up at that. “He told you?” 

“Not really. I know he was in the Army, but nothing beyond that.” 

“They’re still overseas,” Natasha says finally, as James comes back into the studio, a couple of waters and a thick stack of napkins in his hands. “Thank you,” she says, taking them from him. She hands Steve a couple of napkins. “Clean your hands first, you heathen.” 

Steve huffs, but does as he’s told. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ Sooner or later, the fever ends _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Monday, Steve brings the shoes Carol ordered for him to practice. He sets them down in Natasha’s office once he gets there and takes his usual place near the piano. “Evening, James,” he says as he settles against the bench. 

“Steve,” James says, smiling down at him. 

“How was your weekend?” Steve leans his head back, resting it on the bench. 

James shifts to face him. “Fine. Yours?” 

“Lots of wedding stuff. I think I’ve had my fill of cake for the next decade,” Steve says. 

“It’s close, isn’t it?” 

“Another month from now, yeah.” Steve stretches his legs and crosses them at the ankles. “Feels like it was only yesterday that she was proposing to Maria and now she’s getting married. Hell, I feel like she should still be asking to tag along with Natasha and I.” 

James snorts. “I know how you feel. When Becky got married, it felt like the world was collapsing in on itself.” He pauses, eyes far away. “But in a good way, if that makes sense.” 

“How is the world collapsing in on itself good in any way?” 

James shrugs. “I don’t know, it just. It was big. It was a really big deal and things were changing. Suddenly my baby sister doesn’t need me anymore and she’s getting married to some punk who I still don’t care for--” James shuts his mouth, breathing heavily. He turns away from Steve. 

Steve watches as he shuts down. “Hey,” he whispers. “I get it.” 

“I’m happy for her,” James says eventually. “She’s happy and that’s what matters. And he’s helped her out while I was gone and was her support when she was mine. So he’s not all that bad. I just don’t like him.”

“I was like that with Carol’s ex, Rhodey. Rhodey’s a cool guy and all, but I didn’t understand their relationship. Or rather, I didn’t at the time. Now I understand that it wasn’t them just feeling off for me, but being off for each other, too, on account that Carol’s the gayest person I’ve ever met. Not counting myself, of course. But,” Steve says, “I still felt weird about her and Rhodey until they split.” 

James nods. “Yeah. This feels different, but I don’t know if it’s something I’m projecting or there’s a good reason that I haven’t figured out yet.” 

Steve pats his back. “Time will tell. Just be ready for her if she needs you.”

“I’m always ready for her,” James says. “It’s the least I can do.” 

“Why do you say it like that?” 

“Becks was there for me when things were rough after I came home. Before I reconnected with Natasha.” 

Steve hums. “Ah, understood. You feel like you have to repay her for her dealing with your situation. I know that all too well, my friend.” 

James nods, hands hovering over the keys. “I was medically discharged, too,” he whispers. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

He looks down at Steve, head tilted like a lost puppy, big gray eyes sad and hopeful. “You’re not going to ask what happened?” 

Steve shakes his head. “Nah, if you want me to know you’ll tell me. Otherwise, it’s not my business.” 

James smiles at that, a big, honest smile that makes Steve’s heart stutter. “Thank you.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ And I wind up feeling down _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve brings coffee on Wednesday. He’d had a rough day, too many breakdowns and not enough emotional spoons on his end, and he needed the pick-me-up. He brought Natasha her usual latte and bought James a frappuccino he hoped he’d liked, very similar to the one he was currently sipping on. 

Natasha plucks hers out of his hand as she guides her class through warm ups. “Thanks,” she mumbles as he heads toward the piano. 

He moves to sit down on the floor, coffees teetering in their cardboard carrier, when James stops him. “You know you can sit on the bench with me, right?” 

Steve freezes, hunched over and ready to ease himself onto the floor. “You sure?” 

James nods. 

“Okay,” Steve says, smiling. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought you a frappuccino. I’m a sucker for them so I just… assumed.” 

“Assumed that I would have the same taste in absurdly sweet coffee?” James asks, but he takes the cold beverage from Steve’s hand anyways. He takes a sip, face devoid of emotion. “You’re lucky this good.” 

Steve’s shoulders fall in relief. “Thank god. I was worried I’d have to drink both of them and I can barely afford to drink this one.” 

James’ nose crinkles. “You’re really one of those conscious eaters, aren’t you?” 

“Not really. I just can’t handle sugar as much as I used to, so I’m a naturally healthy eater.” Steve sits down on Bucky’s left, closest to the wall. “But sometimes you just need a frappuccino.”

“You can say that again.” They drink their coffee and watch the dancers for a moment before James turns to him. “Everything okay?” 

Steve shrugs. “Long day. Why?” 

James watches him for a moment, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “You don’t seem like yourself today,” he says. “You’re quiet.” 

“I love my job,” Steve says, “but sometimes helping people through their issues is taxing.” 

“Makes sense.” James brushes their shoulders together lightly. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I don’t mind just sitting here.” 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You’re sure?” 

James nods. “Sometimes the most meaningful way to get to know a person is through their silence.” 

Steve wasn’t sure he knew the right thing to say after that. So he kept his mouth shut and drank his coffee, listening to the way James held his breath on the crescendo and felt how his body moved with the melody. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ I need a man who'll take a chance _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For the first time on a Thursday afternoon, Steve is early. Early enough to realize Natasha’s Thursday classes are practically filled with toddlers. There are parents lined up along the windowed wall, in and outside of the studio, each with a bulky dance bag and a phone in their hands. 

Steve slips inside and makes his way to the piano, eyebrow raised. 

James is playing a pop song he can’t put the name to, much to the delight of the little girls’ stretching and playing around the studio. He’s grinning, eyes bright and wide as he sees Steve approach. “Have a good day?” 

“Yeah, I did,” Steve says as he slides next to James on the bench. “You’re in a good mood.” 

“Thursday’s are my favorite,” James practically whispers. 

A little girl with thick brown curls and a pink leotard climbs onto the bench on James’ right. “Can I have my granola?” 

James shakes his head. “Not yet, kid. You can have it at break. Mom’s rules.” 

Steve bites down on his lip, suppressing a gasp. He didn’t realize James had a--

“Who’s this?” the little girl asks, peering under James’ arm at Steve. 

“This is my friend Steve,” James says, glancing up at him. “Steve, this is my niece Rose.” 

Niece. He can work with that. 

Steve grinned. “Rose, that’s a beautiful name.” 

Rose gives him a quick, cheesy smile, showing off her missing front tooth, before she’s sliding off the bench. She waves at James and joins a couple of the older girls. 

“No wonder Thursday’s are your favorite. Are you close with her?” Steve asks. 

James nods. “I stayed with Becky for a few years when I came back, much to her husband’s dismay, and she had Rose while I was there. Spent a lot of time with her. Now I see her at least once a week, twice when she’s taking Natasha’s dance class.” 

“She’s a cute kid.” 

“The best and funny, too. You should see her when she tells a joke, not the most creative but she’s got a passion for entertaining you just can’t beat,” James says, his usually careful words now lazy with familiarity. “Any nieces or nephews yet?” 

“Carol’s adopting Maria’s daughter Monica officially on their wedding day. So until then, I’m not officially an uncle.” Steve shrugs. “But semantics right?” 

James laughs, nudging Steve as he plays an upbeat tune he should know. 

Steve never wants to stop hearing that noise, he realizes with a shaky breath. His knee begins to bounce, a tick he can’t quite control. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ On a love that burns hot enough to last _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Put the shoes on, Steve,” Natasha says as the last of her students packs their stuff up. 

Steve looks up from his spot on the piano bench, eyes squinted. “Are you sure?” 

“Would I tell you to do something if I wasn’t?” Natasha crosses her arms. 

James snorts a laugh. “She’s got a point.” 

Steve glares at him. “Don’t help her. You’re supposed to be on my side now.” 

Natasha pauses at that. “Is he, now?” 

“Yes, yes he is.” Steve stands and heads toward the office, where his shoes are sitting on Natasha’s bookshelf. 

James is leaning back on the bench, watching him when he returns to the studio. “Since when did that happen?” 

“I’m hurt that you even have to ask,” Steve says, clutching his chest dramatically. He takes a seat on the bench and slips his shoes on. Steve tries not to focus on how much warmer James is on the right side, how he can practically feel his skin through the thin fabric of his tank and the thick material of James’ leather jacket. 

Natasha taps her foot. “Tick tock, Steve. Come on, I want to see how much work we have to do this week.” 

Steve shakes his head. “And you think she goes easy on me?” 

James pats his back, hand sliding up to squeeze Steve’s shoulder. “I’m pretty sure you’d be crying by now if she wasn’t.” 

“Your faith in me is abysmal, Barnes.” 

“Never claimed to have any, Rogers.” 

“Are you two finished? I would like to go home at some point tonight,” Natasha calls, but her voice is too light. 

Steve ignores the way she watches James’ hand still on his shoulder. Ignores how she tries to play coy about the looks they share. Ignores how warm his face feels as he walks up to take his place. “Whenever you’re ready, your highness.” 

Natasha pats his cheek. “Cute. Whenever you’re ready,  _ Barnes _ .” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ So when the night falls _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Huh.” 

Steve takes a step back. “I don’t like that noise.” 

Natasha shakes her head. “No, no, it’s good.” 

“Really? Cause it sounds like you’re shocked which means there’s usually an insult waiting at the end of your next sentence.” 

Natasha drops his hand and moves to stand next to the piano. “What do you think, James? Think he’ll make a fool of himself with Carol or does he have a decent shot of pulling this off?” 

James smiles proudly at Steve. “I think he’s going to kill it.” 

Steve flushes. “I--” 

“He’s right, Steve. You’ve got the waltz down pact now and you can do it in the shoes, so there’s not really much more to teach you,” Natasha says, leaning against the piano. “We’ll practice again at the rehearsal dinner, but I think my time with you is complete.”

He crosses his arms. “Seriously? I still have two more days this week that you made me block out just for you. You’re sure I don’t need to come back--”

Natasha presses her lips together. “Are you saying you want to spend another week working this routine to death?”

“Not exactly--”

“Steve, this is a simple waltz for a simple wedding with a bride who doesn’t even want to dance with anyone but her bride. There’s not much more I can teach you, unless you’ve suddenly come to love dance.” Natasha smirks. “Or there’s something else.” 

Steve shakes his head. “I may not hate dancing as much as I thought, is all.” 

Natasha hums. “Or you realized that you’ve limited yourself based on what you think you should be able to do and not what you’re actually able to accomplish and now you’re seeing just how far you’ve come from the days of physical therapy, right?” 

“Maybe--”

“And you like hanging out with me, admit it.” 

He must pull a face because James is laughing louder than he’s heard all month. Steve beams at the sound. 

Natasha glances between the two. “We’re done here, Steve. But I will see you at the bridal party brunch on Saturday, right?” 

Steve groans. “Yes, yes you will.” 

“Then it’s settled,” Natasha says as she claps her hands. She starts for her office. “I’ll see you later, Steve.”

“Night,” he calls after her. 

She shuts the door behind her softly, leaving Steve and James in the studio by themselves. 

Steve shuffles forward to lean against the piano in Natasha’s place, trying not to put too much weight on the precious instrument. “I guess this is it,” Steve whispers. 

James’ smile is tight, but warm. “Not really. You can always keep me company at the wedding. I’m playing the reception.”

“I thought there was a DJ?” 

“Guess Maria wants us to alternate?” James rubs at the back of his neck, flushed. “I’m not sure. I’m just going where Natasha tells me to, if I’m honest.” 

Steve shrugs. “Not a bad plan.” 

They linger. Their eyes meet for a split second before they’re both awkwardly looking away, only to sneak a peek at the other and catch their gaze again. It’s a clumsy cycle of unspoken words and Steve’s not sure what his silence is saying right now, but he hopes James is okay with it. 

And then James is playing, a dreamlike piece that makes Steve’s muscles melt and the knots in his back evaporate. He watches as James’ eyes close, as his body sways, as he feels the music with every inch of his being.

“You play beautifully,” Steve whispers, barely audible over the music. 

James opens one eye. “Oh yeah?” He closes it again, but his smile is wider. 

“Yeah. I can’t wait to hear what you’ll play at the wedding.” He closes his own eyes and just  _ listens _ for a moment. When James slowly fades the music, Steve clears his throat and asks, “What’s the name of that piece?” 

“It doesn’t have a name,” James mumbles. “It’s something I’m working on.” 

Steve slips down onto the bench beside him. “You wrote that?” 

James nods, head tilted down to hide his face behind his hair. “Yeah.” 

“Play it again?” 

He does. He plays it, just as passionately as he did before but something’s switched in James’ posture. He’s more relaxed, at ease, leaning into Steve ever so slightly. 

Steve leans in, too, their arms pressed together. 

James plays it again without asking, his hands fluttering over the keys as if they have a mind of their own. He turns his head to look at Steve, eyes filled with an awe he hadn't quite noticed before. James glances down and back up to meet his eyes. 

He catches himself staring at James’ lips for a second too long. 

It doesn’t matter because the music is starting to fade and they’re leaning in. 

Steve can feel James’ breath hitting his chin. 

James’ eyes stare into his, unsure but open. 

Their noses touch. 

One tilt of his head and he’d press his lips against James’. One tilt and they’d be kissing. 

The door to Natasha’s office opens with a creak and the two separate. 

Steve coughs and stands, moving to grab his discarded sneakers near the wall. “I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks then, James?” 

“Yeah. A few weeks.” James is standing too, grabbing his things from under the bench. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ My lonely heart calls _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Three weeks later and Steve is standing in front of Carol’s bridal suite, staring down at the message on his phone. He sighs, puts it in his pocket, and knocks three times on the heavy wood door. 

Natasha opens it with a grin, dressed in a floor length navy dress with too many sparkles for Steve’s taste. “Hello dashing.” 

“Well, well, well, the wicked witch is here. Love the disguise,” Steve says with a wink as he enters the room.

“Do you?” She fluffs her subtle curls. “I don’t need any of my minions spotting me today.” 

Steve shakes his head. “Not a chance. You look too good to be Nat.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes and leans up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Steve.” 

“Anytime. Where’s--”   
  


“Ta da!” Carol calls as she steps out of the en suite with a ruffling of fabric. She’s in an ivory jumpsuit, her blond hair pulled back into a bun (just shy of being regulation, Steve notices), and a touch of makeup on her face. She’s gorgeous. “What do we think?” 

Steve grins. “Wow. Are you sure you want to go out looking like that? You might kill your bride before you can marry her.” 

Carol beams as she practically skips over to them. “That’s the goal.” She leans against Steve. “Are you ready for today? This is probably the only chance you’ll get to walk down the aisle.” 

Natasha laughs, loud and brash compared to her usual tone. 

“I resent that,” he tells them both with a sharp look. Neither are fazed. Steve takes a deep breath and turns to Carol, taking her hands in his. “About that, though. I can’t give you away.” 

Carol’s smile falls. “What?” 

Steve squeezes her hands. “I know this is really last minute, but it’ll all workout, I promise.” 

“What the hell, Steve?” She pushes him away. “I’m getting married in ten minutes and you’re telling me this  _ now _ ?” 

Natasha glares at him. “Why can’t you walk with her? And don’t blame your leg, either. We both know that’s bullshit.” 

Steve glances at the door as it creaks open, revealing Nick in a tux. “Well if I walk you down the aisle, then he can’t.” He nods toward the man, smiling. 

Carol follows his eyes and gasps. “Nick!” 

Nick raises an eyebrow over his eyepatch. “What? You thought I was going to miss my kid’s wedding? I may not get another chance to see one of you get married. I couldn’t miss that.” 

Natasha shrugs. “That is very true.” 

“Hey! I plan to get married one day, you know,” Steve says, crossing his arms. 

“Sure. And I can fly,” Carol says as she hugs Nick tightly. When they let go, she looks at Steve with a sad smile. “I really do appreciate you stepping in, Steve. It means a lot.”

“Anything for you,” Steve says. 

Carol sniffles. “Save me a dance later?” 

“Of course.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_ Oh, I wanna dance with somebody _

_ I wanna feel the heat with somebody _

_ Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody _

_ With somebody who loves me _

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

  
  


The wedding was beautiful, just like Steve knew it would be. Carol and Maria are both glowing with how happy and in love they are that he has to look away every few now and then. And his eyes always seem to find the mysterious pianist in the corner of the room. 

James played during the ceremony and throughout the dinner portion of the reception. According to Natasha, he’d play until the speeches were through, signaling the end of the formalities and the beginning of the party. Which was fine with Steve. It gave him a chance to spend time with his family and dance with his sisters so all those lessons didn’t go completely to waste. 

He found himself lingering near the piano after the speeches had ended and the cake was being cut. James was still playing, lost in his own world as his fingers danced across the keys. 

It was the song from the last lesson Steve had. 

Steve smiles as he sits down beside James. “You outdid yourself, James.”

“Did I?” 

“Yeah, you really stepped your game up from the stuff you play at the studio.” 

James huffs. “That’s because you only hear me play the same ten songs over and over again for a month.” 

“Okay, fair, but,” Steve bumps their shoulders, “you did incredible tonight.” 

“I could say the same for you.” James winks at him. “You’re not Natasha by any means, but you held your own in that dance you did with Carol. But I particularly liked that little number you did with Monica.” He stops playing with a twinkle of notes. 

Steve laughs. “You saw that?” 

“I did.”

“Well James, we can’t--”

“Don’t call me that,” James says softly, no malice in his words despite how abrupt they felt.

Steve’s brow furrows. “What?” 

“James,” he whispers, “don’t call me that. It feels too stuffy coming from you. I think I like you calling me Bucky better.” 

Now Steve feels like the Grinch with how much his heart grew from that whispered confession. The DJ puts on a cheesy love song, something slow but upbeat from the radio. A couple of relatives are taking to the dance floor, Carol and Maria included. 

Steve glances between them and James-- Bucky sitting beside him. 

“Bucky?” 

“Yes?” 

Steve stands up and holds out a hand, blushing. “Do you want to dance?” 


End file.
